


as the world caves in

by agentlithium



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Fix-It, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Past Violence, Post 5x11, a much needed hug, attempted murder but make it romantic, come on season 6 lets get Vulnerable, happy ending for fucking once, show and tell but for scars because their lives suck, tender as hell, theyre repressed but very in love, very tired oswald
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-01 06:09:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21411655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentlithium/pseuds/agentlithium
Summary: oh, it's you that I lie with
Relationships: Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma
Comments: 21
Kudos: 179





	1. as the world caves in

**Author's Note:**

> wow another fic about sad men in their 30s? anyway everyone's written their own fix-it for that whole "we're brothers" mess so here's mine. title from the matt maltese song of the same name which I recommend listening to while you read this to make this seem less poorly written lol its a really good song and it makes me cry

Oswald wanted, more than anything, just to go to bed.

How many sleepless nights had passed him by? How long had it been since he last closed his eyes? From his small bedroom in his and his mother’s apartment to his cell in Arkham to the master suite of the Van Dahl manor, he paced each of their floors and stared vacantly to their ceilings, praying for something to take him away, bring him peace. Shallow, unsatisfactory slumber kept him alive and little else. His aching body cried out for rest. He was bled dry of his rage, his vitriol, his vengeance. He needed darkness, silence, and, for once in his life, he just needed  _ nothing _ . The one thing he couldn’t have.

He was still angry— oh, God, was he ever angry. He cursed and seethed— though too tired to stand from his armchair— over the ingratitude for what he had done for this city. Everything he did, he did for Gotham and, by extension, its people. Act after act of courageous self-sacrifice and in return, he was called a criminal by men with just as much blood on their hands, just as many deaths in their wake. A criminal, he was. A good man, he was not, but he was not alone, not in the slightest. How many civilians did Jim Gordon slaughter as a soldier, fighting for his country? How many corpses still had his bullets lodged deep in their festering bodies? How many times did he ignore Oswald’s faults when he needed a favour?

Oswald was a criminal, but only when he had nothing left for Jim to take. Naturally.

He said it all that night, every word having been spoken before, over and over again. He spat them out like jagged, broken teeth. His contorted sneer made his face throb, but he had to maintain his mask. He knew more than to reveal how time had weakened him. He had to make up for his leg and now his eye. Though it was only him and Edward, it was for that very reason that he couldn’t bare such crippling vulnerabilities. He was exhausted, but he would have shouted until his throat was raw if he had to.

“We saved this city from certain damnation,” he hissed, “but will we see any credit for our loyalty? Our selfless bravery? Of course not!”

“I don’t want their thanks,” Ed raised his voice for the first time in hours. He has been muttering along in rueful agreement until then. Oswald was thankful, now given the chance to sit back whilst Ed took the floor for his own performance— his personal show of power. From where Oswald looked out, half of the room was gone. Ed stood there, now at the edge of Oswald’s hazy vision. He could almost ignore the thrumming agony radiating through his head from where his eye once was. He couldn’t allow his focus to be clouded by something as simple as pain. He was fixated on Ed. In the quiet of the evening, Ed snarled like something feral. It was the same tirade: how he would never be the pathetic pushover he once was. Oswald had heard this rant more times than he could count. His respect for Ed was not being called into question, but to listen to a grown man beg an imaginary audience to call him ‘Riddler’ was only something one could do for so long.

When Ed stopped cursing  _ their _ enemies and began declaring that  _ he _ be worshipped like a king, Oswald felt a sudden unease grip him by the neck. It was something about Edward’s voice, the strange inflection which seemed to take him over, encouraging whatever madness he was indulging in. He was demanding this praise from his reflection in the mirror or perhaps his reflection demanded it from him. He wanted them to bow to him, to obey him. Oswald’s expression never flinched, still wide-eyed and wild. He pushed himself to his feet.

“Yes,” he all but whispered. “You’re right.”

Ed liked being told he was right. Though Oswald’s fury was unstoppable and violent, there was something horribly unnerving about the way Ed’s face had darkened. The way he looked at Oswald, with eyes so empty, took him back to that rainy afternoon on the pier. He felt scalding metal tear through his stomach, branding him.

Oswald made sure to remind Ed it was  _ their _ accomplishments that had been erased. None of this would have happened if Oswald ran the city.

Ed ignored his interjection. He continued on as if Oswald wasn’t there. He kept his attention on Ed as Ed kept his on the mirror. He was talking about Jim, how he treated Oswald, how he still saw him as Fish Mooney’s umbrella boy. All of this, Oswald knew too well.

“I only came back to help him save this city so I could take it for myself!” Ed roared. Oswald stiffened, defensive.

“We would be stronger together. No one could stop us,” he tried one last time. What he wanted from this, even he didn’t know. Maybe it was for Ed to remember than he wasn’t alone. Neither of them were. It was just the two of them against the world. They could rule the city together or burn it to the ground. Whatever they liked. The fate of Gotham would be in their hands.

“Yeah, perhaps,” was all Ed said.

And Oswald’s stomach sank.

He hoped Ed was too distracted to notice him tug his switchblade from his boot.

“Let’s make a pact. Here and now,” he proposed. That quickly caught Ed’s attention. Oswald continued.

“We will take what we want, from who we want and we will suffer no fools.”

“Together,” Ed’s tone was hollow. Almost mocking. Oswald noticed how his own arm was hidden behind his back.

“Shall we shake on that?”

“Please, we’re brothers. A hug.” The words were thick and sour on Oswald’s tongue. He feared Ed’s reaction if he referred to their relationship by any other title. The horrible disdain twisting his face.

“A hug it is.”

Circling predators approached one another slowly. Both were waiting for the other to pounce and rip them apart. They raised their free hands in a synchronized motion. Neither of them cowards, they walked into what they both knew could very well have been the last thing they ever did.

Their chests came together. Neither slackened in the cold embrace. Hands settled tentatively. Oswald could feel the tip of Ed’s blade hovering between his shoulders just as Ed could likely feel his. Should either choose to, they could take all of the glory for themselves with one final betrayal. Either could plunge the unforgiving steel into the back of the other. They were just as susceptible to attack, like snared rabbits. 

Oswald recalled everything Ed had done to him. Scars, mental and physical. Ed had disfigured every part of him. He didn’t want to count the times he cried over him, the things he had given for him, the things he had lost to him. Ed, too, had his motivations to end Oswald there and then. The suffering Oswald had caused him was too great. Some things just couldn’t be forgiven, no matter how much blood is shed. If Oswald was in Ed’s place, he would have killed him years ago.

But he couldn’t. He could never.

Oswald wrapped his frail arms around Ed as tightly as he could and waited. He smiled and smiled and smiled. If these were to be his last moments, he would die a happy man.

Edward’s arm slid down the slope of his spine. His forearm pressed into the small of his back. His other hand, leather-clad, gripped Oswald’s shoulder hard enough to hurt, to bruise. He held onto Oswald as Oswald held onto him— like he was the only thing that was real, that was forever. Oswald laughed, incredulously. If he hadn’t, he would have sobbed. He had wept enough for this lifetime and then some. Ed said nothing, but he pulled Oswald closer. He must have thought he was crying. In truth, Oswald was coming undone in the arms of the man that saved him, the man that killed him, the man he died for. He dug his nails into the fabric of Ed’s ill-fitting blazer. He was wasting away beneath it. Oswald wanted to crawl in there with him, skin to skin at last. Ed moved to retreat and Oswald didn’t care about being seen as weak anymore. He clutched to Ed with all the strength he could muster.

“Don’t,” he uttered. It was all he could do to stop his voice from trembling. “Just one more minute.”

He expected Ed to push him away in disgust. Instead, Ed stayed still and allowed Oswald to melt against him. Oswald couldn’t ask for any more. He was pulled taut like a rope, high-strung and strained, and now, finally, he could unwind. He slipped free from the knots that bound him and breathed. Ed’s steady shoulders, to Oswald’s surprise, fell. He wanted to ask Ed when was the last time he untensed his muscles, unclenched his teeth, permitted his body a moment’s relaxation. But he already knew.

His own eyelids grew heavy. He slouched into Ed’s emaciated form. If he wasn’t careful, he could have fallen asleep on his feet. He wondered if Ed would let him collapse to the floor or if he would hold him until he woke.

“Oswald.”

Ed’s voice made him see the mistake he was making. He stepped back first. He didn’t bother to hide the blade he slipped into his pocket. Edward was well aware of who he was. Ed’s other hand still braced his arm, loose, but anchoring him to the spot.

“We should get you to the hospital. You need to have your eye examined and properly dressed.”

He wasn’t being sarcastic or disingenuous. The growl that once lined his words had vanished. Oswald hadn’t heard him speak so softly in years.

“Another time,” he brushed Ed off with a shake of his head.

“It might get infected—”

“We’ll go in the morning. I need to sleep. We both do.”

Ed didn’t move. His hand was still on Oswald’s bicep. The touch was gentle in a way that felt like Ed was actively stopping himself from crushing Oswald’s bones. He was proving that he could hold without harming.

“Why did you do it?” Ed asked. He didn’t need to elaborate. Oswald sighed, less out of irritation, more out of shame.

“I told you why.”

“I wouldn’t have done the same for you. You watched me freeze out there.”

Oswald knew that.

“I wouldn’t want you to.”

Ed intended to interrupt, to question that, if Oswald didn’t want Ed to defend him as he defended Ed, then why did he blind himself for a man who would have abandoned him at the drop of a hat.  _ Illogical _ , he would have said.  _ Erroneous, foolish, insane. _

Oswald proceeded on before he could.

“I haven’t been a good friend to you. I suppose it was an apology. An eye for an eye,” he gestured to the bandage wound around his head.

Honesty rarely did Oswald any favours, but neither had dishonesty. Maybe this time, he would fair better if he told Edward the truth. He deserved to hear it, even if Oswald had to tear the words out of himself.

“You… but, why?” Ed hesitated. He looked pained, pained by his own truth. “You didn’t have to. You’ve saved my life so many times already.”

_ But was it enough _ , Oswald needed to ask. 

“I don’t acknowledge it because it only serves to make everything more complicated than it already is, but look at how much you’ve done for me. I would be dead twice over if you hadn’t intervened. And what have I done for you? I pulled a bullet out of you three years ago because I wanted a mentor.”

“Do you think I care about your motives three years ago? Things have changed too much since then.”

Oswald did care. He cared about everything Edward had ever done. He would never forget the joy or sorrow he caused. All of it he would die and be buried with.

“Things have changed, but in spite of all of that, I abandoned you for Lee. I left you in a bank vault to prove a point. Yet still, however ill-fated it was, you had Strange save not only me, but Lee as well. Why her?”

“What happened the last time I interfered in your personal affairs?”

Ed gave one slow nod of understanding.

“I wouldn’t do that to you, not again,” Oswald cast his gaze downward.

“You could have easily lied. You could have said she couldn’t be saved. I would be none the wiser.”

“I don’t want to lie to you anymore.”

“I don’t love her.” Ed blurted, likely louder than he intended by the way he shrunk back. “I never did.”

“I know.”

Anyone could tell that the partnership forged between Edward and Lee was a marriage of convenience. Ed was easily-led and his mind a useful tool. Lee was a kindly, comforting figure that drew in strays. A match made in purgatory— leading nowhere. 

Oswald wasn’t Lee. Ed underestimated her and paid the price. He thought too highly of Oswald to degrade him so. He made that error only once.

“We’ve both hurt each other so much.”

“I know.”

“We should hate each other.”

“We should.”

Ed opened his mouth, then closed it. He searched for the right thing to say. Oswald would have waited for years for him to find it.

“I’ve tried. I-I’ve been trying so hard to hate you. I admit, sometimes you make it easy. You’re a lothesome, self-centered bastard when you want to be.”

Oswald’s lip quirked. It was just like Ed to say something like that now.

“And you, my friend, are a repressed lunatic with delusions of grandeur.”

Ed shocked Oswald again by chuckling.

“We make quite the pair.”

“That we do.”

It was Ed’s hand trailing up over his back again that made Oswald take pause. He didn’t know if this was all another cruel, drawn-out plot. He didn’t jerk or startle. He stared Ed in the eyes.

“What are you doing?” he forced himself to sound calm, at peace with the inevitability of heartbreak.

“I don’t know,” Ed answered frankly. He bowed his head only slightly, aligning himself with Oswald. Their noses were a hair’s breadth from brushing one another. Ed was close enough that Oswald could feel the heat radiating from him. He swallowed dryly.

“I-If this is a trick,” Oswald faltered, despite his best attempt to remain composed, “or a ploy, I will never forgive you. I will hunt you down and never stop hunting until I am bathed in your blood.”

“I wouldn’t expect any less. Not from you.”

It was comforting to hear Ed just as breathless. Ed was as tired as he was, as desperate as he was. Both were afraid of what it would mean if they leaned in only an inch or two. Oswald was still anticipating deception, still waiting for Ed to ridicule him for what little hope he had remaining that maybe, to someone, he was lovable.

_ If you find it, run to it. _

So Oswald did.

He moved in, careful, and Edward met him halfway.

Normally, this was when he would wake. He would be torn from his dreams by the morning sun burning his eyes. He would feel fruitlessly for his lover amongst the sheets, but ultimately, he would remain alone.

To feel soft lips press back against his— it was a hallucination, a fantasy. It had to be. But rather than question it, Oswald submitted to his madness.

They were stilted and awkward. Soft in a nervous sort of way that men like themselves were long past. Soft like they were young again. Soft like first loves. Oswald’s arms lifted purely of their own volition. His fingertips scraped the base of Ed’s skull where his hair was short and downy. Ed swooned on his feet. Oswald worried he might faint, so he held tight, grappling, and Edward held him in kind. 

Ed had his fair share of second chances— all of them squandered or sabotaged. Isabella was his second chance to be normal, Lee was his second chance to be himself, but Oswald was his last chance. His last chance to be loved for everything he was. Ed knew that to deny himself this, to go back to chasing that all-American ideal life that he neither wanted nor deserved would be throwing away the one constant in his miserable life. Though they had fought, though they had cut, slashed, and struck, that was a different time. All of it was building up to this moment. Forgiveness was unspoken, spelled out in Oswald’s gasping breaths, Edward’s quaking hands. Their mouths pushed and pulled. It was desperate, longing and craving. Not rough, but hard, passionate. They kissed as though the world around them was collapsing.

They only stopped out of fear that their pounding hearts would burst. Everything Oswald had been through, all of the pain and turmoil, had been for this. It wasn’t perfect, but it was beautiful and fucked beyond all recognition. It was exactly what two violent criminals deserved. Their happy ending. They rested their foreheads together and smiled. And smiled and smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might follow this up with a super plotless epilogue because I'm gay. roast me in the comments for being illiterate.


	2. strange time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> we're getting stranger every night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tfw the "pointless epilogue" is longer than the original one-shot lol I just really like tenderness and vulnerability
> 
> this is just a scene from a gay indie movie or something so enjoy

Another day passed. The sun rose and fell.

The citizens of Gotham were already beginning the lengthy process of mending the broken city. Mostly small actions— cleaning debris from the streets, positions of governance being filled. From the moment the battle for Gotham came to an end, repairs were already underway. Collectively, it seemed like everybody was trying to erase the last few hundred days from history. With the tragedy at Haven still all too fresh in their minds and so many perfectly normal people driven to depravity by desperation, everyone was eager to pretend none of it had happened. Society was slowly but surely returning to some semblance of normality. So quick to forget.

And with that, Oswald and Edward were villains once again.

Oswald had gotten his eye seen to that afternoon. The hospital was at maximum capacity. The sick and injured poured out onto the sidewalk. With so little staff, they were hardly equipped to cope with such a large influx of people seeking treatment. Oswald fumed over the estimated duration of their stay in the crowded lobby, but mostly kept his frustration between Ed and himself. A public tantrum right that minute would do nobody any good. Edward’s steadfast grasp on his hand grounded him, reminding him to breathe.

Lee Thompkins was less than happy to see the two of them waiting for her, given the unfortunate past she shared with Edward and her far-from-civil relationship with Oswald. Nonetheless, she saw to Oswald’s ailments. She wasn’t an oculoplastic surgeon, nor did they have one at their disposal. The best she could do was clean, disinfect, and stitch up the wounds in the surrounding area. Most of the shrapnel had avoided the eye itself, but the damage was clear. She operated with a calculating, unkind hand that she would normally never use on a patient. Lee usually assured the highest level of comfort possible to those in her care, but Penguin didn’t deserve such mercy. The fact that she was even treating him should qualify her for sainthood. She pushed the needle and thread past punctured flesh and tattered muscle. Oswald swore through his teeth but never objected. Edward occasionally criticized her form and coached her along, but she ignored him. She never once spoke a word to him the entire visit, aside from telling him to be quiet.

The filthy, bloodsoaked handkerchief plastered over Oswald’s face was replaced by a sterile white patch. The sharp sting of antiseptic was fading away slowly. As Lee told them off, declaring that they would receive no further help from her, she passed Oswald a handful of bandages, should he need to change his. Oswald didn’t need to thank her, nor did she want him to. It was easier that way.

At home, there was so much to talk about. So much needed to be discussed and planned. The future was unwritten and the city was free for the taking. Oswald had many ideas and each one included Edward at his side, ruling as equals. He could only hope Ed was thinking the same thing. Yet their time in the city has wasted most of the day away. By the time they returned to the mansion, dusk was creeping up upon them. Only yesterday, they were soldiers. A few fleeting hours not spent plotting or fighting was a luxury they could permit themselves just this once. So, they elected to eat whatever dinner they could scrounge together and call it an evening. 

The cupboards were barren, stocked only with a small number of cans. It would have to do since neither was in a position to complain. While Oswald lit the gas stove and heated the congealed cream soup he found into a stomachable liquid, Edward took it upon himself to venture out to the shed. He brought back with him an armful of dry birch wood. It probably predated Oswald’s time as mayor, given that neither of them could be bothered to go collecting lumber. He placed each log one by one in the fireplace. Oswald saw him coming and going, heard the shuffling of paper, watched him sneak his matchbook. The domesticity of their situation was foreign and strange to them. They were like an old couple, one of them cooking, the other getting the fire going. Oswald felt nostalgic for a life he had never lived. A life of simplicity.

They sat on the dusty couch and dined out of fine china. The fire danced and the wood cracked from the heat. It wouldn’t last very long. There was only enough fuel to keep it burning for a short while. The flame would die and they would be left in the cold again. But for the time being, they basked in the warmth.

“I’m kind of shocked you managed to actually start a fire without burning the house down,” Oswald commented. “You outdoorsman, you.”

“Well, it’s no thanks to you,” Ed replied.

“Oh, so you don’t want dinner? Is that what I’m hearing?” Oswald reached for his bowl and Ed jerked it away.

“No dinner would be better than this soup. I know there are onions in this.”

Oswald bit back a smile. He was never so happy to be bickering with Ed. Whatever they were, it was nice to know that they would never change. They were still as combative and spiteful as ever.

“Oh, quit your complaining.”

Ed raised his eyebrows.

“You, of all people, are telling me to stop complaining.”

“That’s right. Take it to heart.”

Oswald anticipated a smart retort, but Edward just brushed their shoulders together. In an extremely out of character moment, he only had actions to offer, no words. It was something Oswald had never seen before, not from him.

Dinner was finished in amicable silence. 

They had no liquor on hand, nothing sweet for dessert, and not so much as a teabag in the house. Oswald was even out of cigarettes, but he knew that Edward hated it when he smoked, no matter how many times he excused it as being merely ‘social’. Living without any of his many vices would have normally worn him right down to his last nerve, but he was somehow getting along without them. Although, that wasn’t to say he didn’t miss them. It made for many seemingly endless nights. With nothing to busy himself with, he was retiring each evening earlier than ever before.

“We should begin planning for what is to come. You can never be too prepared,” he said to Ed. “I can’t stand just sitting around while who knows what is happening out there. We have a place to secure in this city.” Ed stopped him with a raised hand.

“Neither of us has gotten adequate rest in some time. You need it, especially given your injury. Sleep has been proven to promote the healing process.”

Oswald was somewhat irritated, Ed being right again, but still, his heart fluttered. Something about Ed caring for him in any capacity sent his pulse racing.

“I suppose,” he conceded. Edward nodded in approval.

“You’ll have to change your bandage before bed.”

Oswald huffed.

“Fine.”

They turned and ventured up the stairs. Ed followed Oswald into his room. The only light was that of the unusually bright moon beaming through the window. One could have mistaken it for the midday sun. Oswald peeled the plaster from his eye as he moved to the ensuite to dispose of it. It pulled at his stitches only slightly, but more than enough to hurt. He winced and Ed went to him.

“Do you need any help?”

“I can do it myself.”

Edward let him be.

“The last time I had to take care of you was that time you got shot.”

Oswald snorted, “which time?”

“The second one, if I remember correctly. You had a fairly new wound in your abdomen then.”

“Correct,” Oswald carefully applied a new bandage, squinting through the dim light at his mirror. “That was from Butch. I never told you that, did I?”

“You didn’t.”

Oswald hummed.

“Four times.”

“What?”

“I’ve been shot four times. You never do get used to it. I don’t know why I’d expect that I would.”

Edward fell quiet. Quiet as the grave. Since being back on good terms, they hadn’t spoken about what happened on the dock back then. Oswald may have forgiven Ed’s past transgressions and he truly did all he could to make up for his own trespasses against Ed, but scars are forever. Oswald would never be able to look at himself without seeing how Ed’s rage had branded him.

“I should go to bed. I wasn’t very tired before, but the day seems to have caught up with me,” Oswald quickly changed the subject. He shrugged off his jacket and began unbuttoning his vest. “And I’ve wasted enough time already. Tomorrow will be a busy day.”

Ed wondered, did Oswald consider their time spent together wasted?

“Edward, would you mind helping me? I only need you to take off my brace.”

On the surface, his request was just that, but anyone who knew Oswald knew that he didn’t ask for help. He could be in the most unimaginable pain and still, he would knuckle on through. Anything to uphold the illusion of strength. He didn’t need Ed, but he wanted him. He wasn’t asking for his aid, he was asking for his company. There had to be a favour at play or a give-and-take or something. He was still afraid to openly desire him for nothing other than his presence.

“Of course,” Ed said. He didn’t have to think about it. Oswald sat on the bed and Ed sank to his knees, taking Oswald’s leg into his lap. He bowed before Gotham’s king while holding his most glaring weakness in his hands. It felt like the most natural thing in the world to him. He felt for the clasps of the metal brace and they snapped open easily. While pulling off Oswald’s boot, Ed’s thumb pressed against his calf and Oswald stiffened.

“A little more recent,” he explained. “Work-related injury.”

Ed pulled up the leg of his slacks and Oswald didn’t stop him. Just where his black sock ended, there was the beginning of a distinct mark. It had clearly been taken care of, judging by how well it seemed to have healed.

“May I take a closer look?”

Ed didn’t know what prompted him to ask, be it the curiosity from his past in forensics or simply an excuse to stay longer. Either way, he waited for Oswald’s answer.

“I suppose,” Oswald complied. When he didn’t move, Ed cleared his throat.

“It would be easier if you… disrobed.”

Oswald stood with a clear, practiced indifference, but he failed to disguise the blush that spread up to his ears. Though he had seen Oswald laid bare years prior, that was very different from a conscious Oswald undressing before him. Oswald shed his many layers of vintage finery one by one. Ed averted his stare to allow him some privacy. 

Oswald sat back down, clad only in his dress shirt and underclothes. Though he was just as modestly covered, Ed could now clearly see the entrance and exit wounds on his smooth skin. The bullet tore through the meat of his leg, fired from a downward angle.

“You could lie back if you’d like. It would be more comfortable.”

Oswald welcomed his suggestion. He swung his legs onto the bed and leaned against the headboard. Ed sat at his feet.

“It’s still a bit sore.”

“Who did this?”

“I had a private physician working for me. He was a total bore, honestly, but very good at his job.”

Oswald knew Edward was inquiring about who shot him. He could have very easily divulged that information. He had no loyalty to Gordon anymore. But it was rare to see Ed so subdued. He may never see it again. To rile him up now in a tirade against Jim would be such a waste. So he didn’t say, and Ed didn’t press.

Ed moved his hand lower, to the twisted joint of Oswald’s ankle. He felt Oswald recoil, nearly pulling away from him entirely. But he heard no protest from him and eventually, Oswald relaxed. The broken bone jutted out, Ed’s thumb trailing over the knot where it had set.

“Years ago, I wanted Fish Mooney dead,” Oswald began with a nostalgic sigh. “Now, I can’t imagine what it was like not to miss her. She made me who I am.”

“Nobody made you. You didn’t need her.”

“No man is self-made. Only fools think that they are. I have to acknowledge what she did for me. It’s a matter of respect, I believe. I killed her, not out of lack of respect or ingratitude, but because I had to in order to best her. When she came back, I knew I couldn’t do it again, because I respected her and she respected what I became. Without her, I would be nothing. I can’t deny that.”

Edward had much to learn about the hierarchy of crime. There were still rules and expectations. Lawlessness simply for the sake of it was not what Oswald was interested in. He knew that one has to work to earn their place in the underworld and no one made it alone. Your allies and adversaries built you.

Oswald raised his hand to examine the back, then chuckled quietly.

“I still have the scar from when she stabbed me with a fork, though. That I’m not grateful for.”

Ed looked at him quizzically, and Oswald showed him. On his hand, there were four barely visible spots in a perfect line.

“I never noticed,” Ed admitted.

“That must be the only thing that managed to evade you.”

“It just blends in with your freckles.”

“Oh,” Oswald rolled his eyes. “I hate my freckles. The ones on my face draw too much attention to my nose.”

Ed felt wrong not speaking up, but he didn’t have the words to contradict him. What emotions Ed harboured for him were not for his appearance, but not in spite of it either. It was the small things about Oswald’s face— his freckles, his profile, his eyes. He was peculiar and unearthly in a way that Ed couldn’t quite call beautiful. He couldn’t call it anything. Oswald was in a category of his own. 

“I’m sure there are plenty of things I haven’t noticed about you,” he said.

“And I’m sure there’s much more I haven’t noticed about you,” Oswald countered. “I know who you are now, but I haven’t seen any part of you that you haven’t been willing to show me. I don’t know who you were before we met.”

This conversation was long overdue, but Ed still thought it too soon. He didn’t have a backstory like Oswald did. Oswald began somewhere. He grew from something. Ed hadn’t thought about his life before all of this since he left home. He didn’t want to think about it. If he refused to discuss it, he knew Oswald wouldn’t be upset.

“I have two,” he muttered, cursing the way his voice wavered. “On the inside of my arm and one on my back.”

Oswald, clearly holding back, hesitated before pushing on ahead.

“Could I…”

Ed wordlessly loosened his tie. It was dropped to the floor, followed by his blazer, shirt, then finally his undershirt. He decided to take off his glasses as well and placed them much more carefully on the nightstand. The last person to see him in any state of undress was Isabella. He couldn’t recall the last time he thought of her.

Oswald didn’t anticipate Ed being so thin. He was barely more than skin and bone. His shoulders were broad and his hips narrow. Oswald didn’t want to stare, but he could hardly help it. He was nothing special, but to Oswald, he was everything and more.

Ed turned his left arm to show a circular burn on the soft underside. It was no bigger than the pad of his little finger.

“A cigarette.” Oswald wasn’t asking. He knew.

“Yes.”

Oswald mustered a small, sympathetic smile.

“I have one, too.”

Ed swallowed.

“Where?”

Oswald Cobblepot could never be called shy. He was brash and loud and confident but it wasn’t his physique that gave him that boldness. He had always been very modest, just as his mother taught him to be. He wasn’t the most comfortable with being so exposed to others. He was somewhat placated by the fact that Ed was as naked as he was, but that didn’t make him any more secure in his own body. Under his elaborate suits, he was nothing but a crooked, feather-light frame, draped in rage and filled with fear.

He took off his shirt. His hands instinctively crossed over his bare chest. Ed, blood rushing up to colour his face, removed his belt and pants if only to match Oswald. It established a level of equality between them where no one was more shielded or more hidden. Both were just as defenceless as the other. They settled back with their legs tucked underneath them, save for Oswald’s injured leg hanging off the edge of the bed.

On Oswald’s right arm, just below his wrist, he had an identical burn to Ed’s.

“I talked back.”

One of Fish’s men had gotten sick of him. The drunk brute ripped the button off his sleeve and pinned him to the table with the burn of scalding embers.

“So did I.”

Ed’s father had a rotten temper.

“And the other one?” Oswald reminded him. Ed nodded and twisted, though apprehensively, to show the long, thin line across his back. It was broken in two by the divet of his spine. In his own way, he understood what Oswald meant about respecting Fish for what she had done for him. He could never forget the agony, but he never felt the crack of that leather belt again when the marks never went away.  _ No pain, no gain, _ as they say.

Ed startled when Oswald touched him. Fingertips grazed gently over the old scar. He whipped back around to look at him. Oswald stared back.

“I-I’m sorry,” he stammered. Ed had only seen Oswald so afraid once. When he forced Oswald to admit his guilt, admit he loved him, he watched the man he respected be overcome by blind panic. His revenge would have only been completed when he saw that expression of fear once again, but it never happened. He could have tortured Oswald until the day he died and he would never be so scared as he was at the prospect of losing Ed forever.

Ed took his hand tentatively.

“It’s alright.”

He reached out to put his other hand on Oswald’s chest. It trailed down over his ribcage. Ed didn’t miss the shiver that followed his touch down to Oswald’s stomach. He was still as scrawny as he was those years ago, but he was noticeably softer in his midsection. He was no longer a starving servant, begging at his master’s table. His complexion was bloodless, but his skin was hot. He had changed, not for better or for worse. But the greatest difference was the mangled, ugly hole Ed had put there.

Another conversation Ed wasn’t ready to have.

“It’s in the past,” Oswald quelled Ed’s worrying before he could say a word.

“You’re not angry?”

Ed hated how he sounded. Like he was talking to his father. But Oswald wasn’t his father.

“I am,” he corrected, and Ed’s gut twisted. “I’m angry with myself. For betraying your trust, for forgiving you, for hiding so much from you. Honestly, you should be the angry one.”

Ed was never angry with him. He was hurt by Oswald’s selfishness, but that emotion had become so tangled in his other feelings for Oswald that somewhere along the line, it was lost. All that was left was an incomprehensible mess— a puzzle he was afraid to complete. A puzzle he couldn’t finish alone.

“I don’t know what we’re doing,” Ed stated frankly. “I don’t know how this is going to end. I don’t— I don’t like not knowing, but I am willing to find out. I want to find out.”

That was the closest thing to a confession that Ed thought they would get that evening. It was the best he could do without choking.

He had moved to start idly rubbing Oswald’s shoulder with his thumb as he spoke. He hadn’t even realized he was doing it. He lightly tugged Oswald downward and was met with no opposition. They fell to lie on their sides, facing one another. Oswald’s pale eyes were glassy, reflecting the light of the moon. He glowed under it.

Ed kissed him. He knew that if he didn’t, he would have told Oswald he loved him

Oswald fumbled, clumsily grasping at every part of Ed he could reach. He settled on cupping Ed’s sculpted jaw, thumbing over the hint of stubble. Both melted so easily into one another. Ed’s hand wandered high up on Oswald’s thigh. He licked past Oswald’s parted lips, tasting his tongue. Oswald sighed, deep and content, like the weight of the world had been lifted off of him. The kiss was long, slow, indecent. Divine. 

When they parted, their breath coming out in gentle gasps, they did so with regret. It was the second embrace they had ever shared and just like the last time, they could have stayed like that forever. But exhaustion was once again coming to claim them. Ed rolled over, lying supine so Oswald could rest his weary head on his breast. He felt Oswald drape over him, curling his good leg around Ed’s. He situated himself so he had one arm tucking Oswald close to him. He lazily combed his fingers through Oswald’s hair, working through the product that held it in place. He almost laughed aloud at the idea that even in an apocalyptic Gotham, Oswald was still as invested in his appearance as always. It was just another one of the many little habits that made up the strange man he shared a bed with.

It felt wrong, in a way, to Oswald. Honesty, trusting someone, to be all but stripped naked emotionally and physically without the threat of treachery. Ed cradled him like he was something feeble and soft, like neither were the monsters they were known to be. The reality was that Oswald was all sharp edges, biting remarks, molten fury. He wasn’t made to be adored, he was made to hate. And he hated. He hated his enemies, he hated the mess made of the city he called home, he hated himself for losing everyone he cared about, he hated his twisted face, he hated his ashen skin.

He hated that he still loved Ed.

For the both of them, to hold and be held, to worship and be worshipped was a delusion. They learned not to dwell on dreams or have faith in others. To let one's guard down meant certain death. It would take time before they could fully open themselves up, but they had time. Edward had been in enough performative relationships to know that he wasn’t meant for a life of mundanity, constantly hiding the most rotten and wicked pieces of himself. He’d never have to worry about shielding Oswald from his worst impulses because he knew Oswald would be right there beside him, soaked in blood and grinning wildly right back. And Oswald himself, the incorrigible romantic, knew that he would never love another man like he loved Ed. He would own his heart until it ceased to beat. It was terrifying, but when Ed strained to press his lips to the crown of Oswald’s head and laced their fingers together, his misgivings were forgotten. Ed had given Oswald his own heart in return with the mutual promise that they would never hurt each other again.

However, nothing could be certain. Tomorrow wasn’t a given and promises could be broken just as quickly as they were made. They didn’t know what they were, what to call it. The only thing they knew for sure was that it was confounding, confusing, inexplicable, and sublime.

It was all they ever wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so uhhh basically I'm soft and I honestly wasn't sure how vulnerable they could get without it being too ooc like they have so much that they can't avoid talking about and I didn't want to leave it all open but also they're so repressed and dumb that they'll probably never talk about anything ever. I guess neither of them really know how to describe how they feel about one another but either way I hope yall liked this!! 
> 
> (comments really butter my croissant)


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